The Elder Scrolls: Elsweyr
by Gehenna79
Summary: The fate of all Tamriel rests in the hands of one Imperial with amnesia and an old Khajiit fisherman. All OC for the most part, takes place in 3E 423, before Morrowind and after Daggerfall.
1. Chapter 1

**The Elder Scrolls: Elsweyr**

**Chapter One**

* * *

Every journey begins with a single step.

But some journeys are difficult, and are filled with great danger.

And the steps you take are filled with pain, like thorns brushing into the soft soles of your feet.

You must become calloused, rough as leather or rock, so you can overcome these steps.

Such journeys can be overcome, yea.

Some might say that these could be impossible.

And some are journeys that might never have been dreamed.

One such one was a human who decided the fates of the Khajiit.

I can scarcely believe that one myself.

And I was there.

* * *

Soft, crystal clear waters rise and fall on top of the warm, pink sands of the beach. Behind the sands of the beach is more sand, but gray sand having the texture and feel of baking flour. Behind them is a tall ridge, about four or five feet above the surface of the beach. On the ridge is where short, spiky grasses, olive-green, grow and sway in the wind. Light clouds float on the blue sky above, and down the beach away from this area, one can see groups of small, wooden huts, where Khajiit fishermen and moon-sugar farmers live. A clean, prosperous environment for Khajiit to enjoy.

This is my home. I have lived here since I was a cub, many years ago. My fur is starting to gray, and I am known as the old cat now by the impudent cubs, a replacement for my true name, "Faduq-al'Bashiz." Too long for most humans, especially Imperials to say, so they used to say just "Faduq" or even more simply, "Duq."

I am watching something, a body crawl out of the water, the ivory foam enveloping its soft, pink body. Humans are so odd, with their hairless bodies. As our elves of course, but they are no fun. I am deciding whether or not I should help this man, if he is going to die or not. It appears as if he will survive, if he is helped.

Why is he there?

I do not know.

My curiosity beckons me to find out for myself.

But as the saying goes, "Curiosity killed the Khajiit."

I know that many leagues to the south, there is a city, the city of Senchal. Senchal is a resort, a pleasure house for humans, Imperials most especially. It is also where crime lords, barons who run the moon-sugar farms, and the arenas, live.

He could be someone who failed a task, and was thrown overboard a ship as punishment; washed up here. He could be dangerous.

I make up my mind.

Mara would want me to help this poor soul.

I walk up to the body, and pull him out of the water. He turns on his back. He is the color of the flesh of a ripe peach, a light tan infused with flushed notes. His face is like a hawk, lean and sharp, but now it looks vulnerable, covered with a blanket sand and the spray of the sea in his eyes. His chocolate brown hair is tied up with clumps of dirty seaweed. All that he wears is a pair of linen breeches, a huge gash running down the right leg, where I can see red, sticky blood. It was a miracle no sharks got to him in the time it took for him to wash up ashore. Maybe they sensed magic in him? He looked Imperial to me, but then again, all humans look Imperial to me, even the ones from Skyrim and High Rock.

He mumbles something incoherent.

I ask him sharply, slapping his cheek with my furry hand, "What is your name, human?"

His dark brown eyes open up and look to me pleadingly searching for some refuge. He managed to cough out some seawater and answer, "Lucullus."

Lucullus falls to sleep out of exhaustion.

I resolve to bring him to my hut.

* * *

My hut is small. Years before I had a wife, children, and they lived with me in my cramped quarters. My children have moved on, forgotten their old father. My wife is dead, claimed by disease and poor health. Life has not be kind, but it could be a lot worse. I could have been born a Khajiit in Morrowind, enslaved to a Dunmer lord to mine Kwama eggs twelve hours a day.

It is now night time, and the glow of my candles gives an unearthly vibe to everything. My table, my pantries, my potions and my wardrobe, all things cloaked in shadow or orange. I spoon a bit of moon-sugar and eat it. The drug fills me with comfort and I relax. I do not take part in Skooma, such things make you a cripple. But moon-sugar is natural for Khajiit. We can handle our intake.

Or maybe we can't, and have fooled ourselves into thinking we can.

I had gone about my business, repairing my nets, spearing more fish to sell at the market the next day. I had laid the young Imperial on my bed, let him sleep and embued him with liquids to hydrate him once more. I said prayers to the Great Cat and the Mane, who watch over us all, and then I just waited.

I still wait, sitting in the darkness, falling asleep in a chair. But every now and then my slumber is broken by a fit of coughing from Lucullus' body.

The older you get, the less sleep you need, the less you _want _sleep. I never had the talent for magic, but I know that Mages can live to be thousands of years old with the aid of their spells and potions. They probably never sleep, because they don't need to. I sleep less because I am old, and it is easy to trail off and sleep for a day, or even two, and then you forget you have to go fishing or else your belly will be empty, or you forget to take moon-sugar, and your mouth is dry and numb. In twenty, maybe thirty years, I will be so old that I might find myself sleep and then die without even noticing.

I'm not ready to die yet.

Finally, Lucullus seems at rest. I devote myself to full sleep. It is not hard.

* * *

When I wake up it is morning.

Shafts of golden sunlight come down from within the windows of my hut. The bed is now empty, folds in the sheets show that someone was there, but now left, the pillows are also laying frumpled as well, without a care to their order. I am a bit anal, I will admit, I prefer everything to be in its right place.

After eating a spoonful of more moon-sugar, I walk outside, to see if Lucullus has deserted me. And strangely enough, he has not.

He is sitting at the beach, his legs put out in front of him, in the way that humans sit, not with their legs crossed underneath them, like most Khajiit do.

I walk up behind him and say nothing for a few moments. Then I ask, "Who are you?"

The man looks behind me, a genuine look of perplexion on his face. He says back to me, "I don't know."

I pause and say nothing. So Lucullus was not his name, or at least, he did not remember his ownership of such a title. I assumed he had been answering me when I had saved him on the beach, but I should have known that he was not in a state to comprehend my words, especially not if he had been swimming for possibly miles through the ocean, losing blood. I had patched up his wounds as well, that was not hard.

"When I pulled you out of the water," I continued, "You muttered a name, Lucullus? Does that mean anything to you."

The man shook his head, "I...where am I? Who are you? I can't...remember anything, other than water, warm water, the taste of blood and iron..."

I bring the man to his feet and gesture back to the hut, "Come on then, let us get some breakfast first."

I give the man access to a plate of pickled mackerel, along with some eggs that I fried up in a skillet and a jar of pickles that I kept in my cold storage. It was just a hole in the ground of my hut, covered up by a plank of wood that was in turn covered up by sand.

Now I watch him eat heartily, as if he had never eaten before in his life. I see that around his neck is a necklace of some kind, a cord, and at the lowest point, a bit of shiny metal.

Then I realize something even more greater, causing my eyes to go wide. It is a piece of gold, in the shape of a curved hourglass. On the bottom and the top of the hourglass were depictions of the twin moons. I realize that this is the Mark of the Mane, the ruler of all Khajiit. Well, besides the Emperor Uriel Septim VII of course.

"That amulet," I speak, "Do you remember where you got it?"

The man shakes his head, "All I know is that I can't lose it. Its valuable."

"I would say so," I agree, "Its the mark of the Mane, a sign of royal favor in these lands."

"The Mane?" asks the man, "Your leader?"

"Yes, you remember this, but you do not remember your name or where you come from?"

"Everything before I woke up on the beach is a blur, dark shapes and voices, I can't really decipher exactly."

I nod my head, "It is called amnesia, I have heard. I know a little bit of medicine."

The man slices off a piece of the salty fish and puts into his mouth. He swallows with a grimace, pickeled fish obviously not being his favorite thing to eat, and then he says, "What is your name?"

"I am Farduq."

"Thank you, Farduq."

I inclined my head forward as all Khajiit do when thanks is bestowed upon them, "No problem."

"Where are we?"

"Do you want me to be specific? Or do you remember what continent we are on?"

"What continent _are _we on?"

I look to the side at the sea, a bemused expression on my face. It is what I do when I am confronted with strange, peculiar, and otherwise ridiculous situations.

"We are on the continent of Tamriel," I begin, "In the Land of Elsweyr."

"Tamriel," the man repeats, "Elsweyr."

"We are about ten miles to the north of Senchal, on the Topal Coast."

"Senchal, Topal Coast."

"We are about a mile south of the small fishing village of Budonistan. Does any of that sound familiar?"

"Tamriel, and Elsweyr do, but not the others. I know Tamriel, is the home of someone named...Uriel Septim."

"He's the Emperor, the Emperor of Tamriel."

"Is that like a king?"

I nod, "Yes. Somewhat."

"And Elsweyr is the home of the Khajiit?"

"Also yes."

"What date is it?"

"Year 423, of the Third Era."

"How old am I?"

"I do not know."

"Oh, how old are you?"

I chuckle, "You should know better than to ask an old Khajiit that question, but I am sixty years old, turning sixty one next month."

The man looks down at the floor, lost in thought. Then, he looks up and says, "Where do I go now?"

* * *

**Author's Note: Because its not like I have enough stories to keep track of, but my inspiration could not be ignored. And also, because Bethesda has so far refused to give TES fans like myself a proper Khajiit experience. Doubt they ever will, mostly because Khajiit culture would confuse the casual player fanbase they so desperately crave. Better to stick with the easy fantasy tropes like Elves and Wizards and Vikings. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Elder Scrolls: Elsweyr**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

It is dawn. The sun is rising above the shrouded hills to the east. The twin moons are paling, becoming somewhat translucent against the backdrop of the violet sky. A cool wind blows through my fur, and I shiver slightly, but then ignore it. I have a pack slung across my shoulder, a walking stick made of mahogany grasped in my hand. I am traveling, and at this moment I am waiting for Lucullus to come out of my hut, so we can start our journey.

It has been a week since Lucullus came into my life. In that meantime, I have taught him some rudimentary skills, to try and get him on his feet. His question, "Where do I go now?" hit some chords that stirred deep within me.

The priests say the gods plan everything for a reason. That Auri-el dictates our fates one by one. I have believed in the gods ever since I was a cub, and still do, even though now I worship the gods of the Imperials as well. Lucullus was brought to me, without any of his memory, bearing the Mark of the Mane, a symbol that can only be bestowed by the highest Khajiit of us all. It is obvious that I was meant to help Lucullus on whatever his destiny might be.

It also helps that I was bored with my life in the present.

Finally, Lucullus appears. His name is not Lucullus, at least, he is not sure either way whether or it is or isn't, but I will call him that until it is ascertained what his name really is. He is wearing a pair of breeches, new ones that I bought for him in the market, and a loose, puffy shirt made of white linens. Around that he has a brown leather vest, and on his back is another pack, a stick with a canteen tied around it. Each time it moves, I can hear the swish of the water, and the rapping of the metal on the stick, swinging in a pendulum motion.

We are doing the only thing we can at the moment; we must travel to Torval, in the far, mysterious west, and request a visit with the Mane, the ruler of all Khajiit.

It is a hard task, but not very hard for me to set my mind to. I have no family, and few friends in this area. I am a fisherman, and am not leaving any great job or source of coin. Soon I will retire, and maybe somewhere out in the west, there will be something to keep my time occupied, or a place to live that is cheap or even free. A naïve thought, but one that keeps me focused.

"Come on," I say, "Let's get started."

"Right with you," replies Lucullus.

* * *

Lucullus doesn't remember anything of his life before the ocean. He remembers how to feed and clothe himself, he remembers how to fight with a sword or a staff, which is a good way of limiting what he could have been before, and he knows a little bit about history and geography still as well. But when traveling with a partner, you usually take time to get to know them, and since I can not learn anymore about Lucullus than I already do, I decide to answer some of the various questions he has about me, questions that I have not had time to answer so far.

"You mentioned before you were in the Imperial Legion," he asks curiously, "What was that like?"

"I never fought," I reply, "I was a healer, with the 303rd Imperial Regiment. I was stationed in Elsweyr, near the town of Rimmen, which is very close to Cyrodiil. For a while, it was boring, and I served as a town doctor, for the people of Rimmen, making house calls. But then came the trouble with the Rim'saad."

"Who are they?"

"They are some Khajiit who dislike the rule of the Empire. They wish to overthrow the current Mane, and replace him with a new one that they control. One that will get the Khajiit to try and rebel against the Empire."

"But that's suicide, the Empire is too strong for one province by itself to secede from."

"For most, unless you are Skyrim or Hammerfell."

"Have you ever visited any of those?"

"No, the only province I have visited outside of Elsweyr is Cyrodiil, and only Leyawiin and Bravil at that."

"Do you think that the Khajiit should secede from the Empire? Do you dislike Imperial rule."

I decide to choose my words carefully, in case his amnesia is just an act, and he happens to be an Imperial spy. But it is not hard, because the truth is something that an Imperial would like to hear.

"I was in the Imperial Legion for nine years. The Empire conquered my people yes, but we have greatly benefited from its rule. The Empire emancipated many Khajiit slaves when they conquered the Argonians many years ago, and of the Dunmer. They also keep order, and bandits off the road. And we still have self-rule, or else the Mane would not be around to be revered."

"I see," he asks a new question, "So did you fight against the Rim'saad?"

"There was trouble, yes. They took up residence in an old Ayleid fort, built thousands of years ago during the time of our ancestors, and when Bosmer still lived in Elsweyr. We had to...dislodge them."

"With violence, I assume."

"I patched up the wounded, some could not be saved. In the end, we captured the leaders, and executed them."

"I see. Were they dangerous individually?"

"A hard question. I knew some of them were mages, and others were thieves, as many Khajiit are, but I could not say. They are no problem anymore, at least that Charter. They are many, and well organized."

Lucullus is quiet a bit, giving us a chance to catch our breath as we rise a hill. In all directions, I can see the empty plains that make up the southern interior. Far to the west, the forests and jungles will begin to appear, but for now, we are on a flat plain. The grasses are orange like flame, and rise up high above a Khajiit's head. The air is ripe with spice and salt, and the calls of countless birds flitter on the wind. A whole flock of them jumps up from a water-hole in unison, as a Senche leaps out from the bushes. Lucullus is taken aback by this and jumps backwards.

The Senche is a fearsome beast on four legs, with fur the color of a light yellow, a mane of brown around its collar. Its face is like that of the common lion, and its teeth are bared and dripping with the blood of a kill. The birds were large, and meaty, in this kind of season.

"What is that?" Lucullus exclaims.

"A Senche."

"A what?"

"Do not fear. That is no savage animal. It is a kind of Khajiit, that walks on four legs. But it will not attack another creature that talks and walks, unless it is a bandit, like any other being. They can understand written and spoken tongues, and they have government, law, art, like other Khajiit too."

Lucullus wathes the Senche with apprehension. It notices us, and bows its head, as it lays down and sits while it finishes eating its kill. Some Senche still practice the old ways, living off the land, but most live in the Capital, serving as battle-steeds for the warriors of the Mane.

As we walk on by, Lucullus admits to me with some embarassment, "Sorry, I just didn't know there were more than one kind of Khajiit."

I nod and give him a smile, "It is understandable. There are two kinds that outnumber all the others, and those two kinds are generally the only ones that travel outside the homeland."

We walk through the grass, parting it out of the way with our staffs. I see a couple of toads jump out of our way, as well as a green, slimy snake slither through the mud. Everything around us stinks and is foul.

"What are those two types?" Lucullus asks.

"The Suthay-raht and Cathay-raht. I am a Suthay-raht, and you will find us all over Tamriel, mostly in ports and such. The Cathay-raht mostly live either here or in Cyrodiil, and do not look much different from us. They are a little bigger, and stronger, and they had lighter fur, sometimes with spots, while ours is more...fluffy, I guess would be the closest word."

"Hm," he replies as we step into the water of the marsh, "Fascinating."

"Yes, indeed."

* * *

Our first stop is made at the cross of two dirt roads. Another group of Khajiit, with one Argonian in their group, is also there are the fire. For mutual protection from potential bandits or predators, we decide to camp together. Over a meal of fondue and cheese, I talk and listen to their stories. They are traders. As the old saying goes, "Every Khajiit is a trader at heart." There are some who have changed that to "Thief" but those who hate us, know little of our culture. By the warmth of the hearth, I eat my fill, and share a bit of smoked meat and fish with my new found friends.

The leader of their group, Navam, is a Suthay-raht with brown-red fur, and white spots speckled around his nose and eyes. He speaks like an established bard, well versed, and told of things he had heard and seen along the road to Torval.

"The roads these days are safe, but the city is not," he says.

I lean over closer to the fire. The smoke of several pipes mixes in with the smoke of the fire. I ask, "Why is that, my friend?"

"The Rim'Saad are getting bolder. They tried to assassinate the Mane, I have heard. The guards were furious."

"Impossible," I retort, "How could assassins get into the main complex? Or did the mane leave?"

"The mane left, he was going to try and meet with an Imperial official from the Imperial City. But this was all like several weeks ago, news travels slowly, you must understand."

"Of course." Distances were great in Elsweyr. It was the smallest province, but the presence of large amounts of desert and jungle made travel sometimes difficult.

"So anyways, the Mane is now on permanent lock-down. The Rim'saad are on the streets in public now, and apparently they've got big reach in Senchal and Corinthe as well, even Rimmen has a bit of problem with them, as they're hiring mercenaries to deal with the one camping outside the city, and bothering Imperial traders from Leyawiin."

"I had no idea things were this bad." I stroke my beard. For the last ten years, I had lived in isolation, living in my little fishing village, cut off from the outside world, only when something really big happened, like the Illiac Bay crisis or something like that.

"Yeah. The Empire will have to send troops down eventually, to put down their leader, Rama'yat."

I see a change go over Lucullus' face. He pounds his head in with a fist, and everybody's eyes on him.

The Argonian, Mau-Brei leans over and puts a comforting scaly hand on Lucullus' shoulder, "Are you okay, land-strider?" he asks. Mau-Brei is an average height and build for an Argonian male. His scales are a dark, verdant gree, and his eyes are a deep purple, an interesting trait I have not seen before. He has no feathers, or horns, and his head is completely bald.

"Its okay," said Lucullus, "Sudden migraine."

"Time to sleep then," says another Khajiit female with a warm smile.

"Yeah, I guess so."

I talk with them over the fire a little longer, but before bed, I ask Lucullus what was the matter.

"When I heard that name," he explains, "Rama'yat, I seized up with pain, and I saw flashes."

"Flashes of memory?" I asked, needing clarification. I knew that amnesiacs would sometimes get flashes of memory that were locked by trauma, with the use of key-words or information.

"Yeah."

"What did you see?"

"I saw a Khajiit, one that looked like you, though with dark black hair, in a robe, walking through a low-lit alley. Then a flash of lightning, his face up close to my vision. And that's all."

This troubles me. What could Lucullus have to do with this Rama'yat? I had fought the Rim'Saad before, but I had never heard of this Rama'yat.

"Let us go to sleep," I finally say.

But it takes some time for me to sleep. Could Lucullus' amnesia have something to do with the Rim'saad?

Before I know it, dawn has arrived.


End file.
